Something Like Love
by Bitter.Season
Summary: [Complete] It started with fire. Will it end with heartbreak, or will she finally get what she's been hoping for? Spoilers for 'Play with Fire'. [CatherineGreg]
1. Better Than Alone

Summary: A continuation, of sorts, of the scene in 'Play with Fire' where Catherine speaks to Greg in the hospital at the end.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them. If I did, Greg would spend less time in the lab and more in my bed with a substantially smaller amount of clothing involved. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and all those other insanely cool people.

Author's Note: I had a perfect, and I do mean perfect, version of this story done. I was in the process of editing and spell-checking it when the computer crashed. Did it recover the document like it sometimes does? Hell no, it definitely didn't. Therefore, this is my second attempt at writing this scene. Hopefully it's up to par. This is my first CSI fic, so be gentle.

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Greg's dreams had not been the most pleasant of late, but that was to be expected after an ordeal such as his. At least in his dreams, he was a casual observer to his fate and the pain was masked by the horror of it all. It was hard to feel the pain in his dreams.

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At least I'm alive.

He knew that it could have been a lot worse. If he had been standing a little bit closer to the fume hood, or perhaps on the other side, he may not have been tossed through the window. It had helped him escape the majority of the flames. He was still hurt though, but he would live to see another set of DNA samples.

It struck him as funny that his mortality should be questioned in such a way. Every day, he processed DNA that could make or break a case. In some instances, his DNA analysis alone sent the murderer away. It wouldn't take much for someone to find out it was he who had processed the data. Even less to find him on his way to his car one morning and take care of him as well. What's one more skeleton in your proverbial closet when you're already being put away for life anyway?

But of all the things, it was a lab explosion.

He wasn't sure when he awoke. Maybe it was the soft click of the door shutting, or perhaps it was the footsteps of his visitor, pacing back and forth across his little room. Either way, Greg was awake and less than willing to talk to just anyone. He was sure that he looked like hell, not to mention the throbbing in his back and on his face.

The pacing stopped, somewhere to his left as far as he could tell, but there was only one way to be sure. Still, he was hesitant to open his eyes. He really didn't want to talk to someone unimportant. Unless it was Nick or Grissom or...

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Catherine.

He shut his eyes quickly, then groaned and opened them back up again. He saw her look at him, a vacant expression on her face at first, but one that quickly turned to concern.

"What time is it?"

Greg already knew. It wasn't hard to look through the window, into the hallway where the colorful clock rested just above the nurses' station. These were mere formalities before the real talk. Small talk that would eventually lead into the business that neither seemed willing to bring to light. They both knew why she was here. "Late." Her answer was simple. She was going to play along for now.

"How long have you been here?" He already knew this as well, but stall tactics were always acceptable in situations like this. He wasn't sure whether Catherine would be grateful for this or not.

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Maybe I'm just being selfish.

Either way, he would follow the script the way it was meant to play out.

"A while." A look flashed across her face, and it appeared that she might say something else, but seemed to decide against it. "I got a little time on my hands."

It was time to get down to business. She had taken the initiative, and now he had to step up to the bat. "You found out what happened in the lab, didn't you?" She remained motionless, but a flicker in her eyes gave it all away. It had been her.

"Yeah." She didn't say anything for a moment. He wished she would just leave it at that and be done with the whole thing, but he also realized the impossibility of such a feat. She needed this, and he would go along with it for her. He would give her at least this.

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Maybe some things should stay buried.

She looked like she wanted to move, but didn't seem sure that her legs would carry her. Finally, she pulled up a chair beside his bed and took his hands in hers. "Yeah, and, umm... I wanted you to hear it from me."

The room was quiet for what seemed like hours. The whir of the air-conditioning lulled them into a false sense of calm, but her sigh quickly forced them out of that comfortable place. "It was late, or early, depending on how you look at it. Warrick and I were bringing a solution we had collected from a garage murder scene to the evidence room, but it was between shifts. The day crew hadn't gotten there yet, so I had to put it under the fume hood."

She paused, looking at him with an intensity that was almost frightening. Shaking her head at something, she continued on again, as if somewhere else entirely. "I followed protocol completely. All the unbooked evidence has to go under the fume hood. It's standard procedure." She sounded quiet and distant, as if reading from a textbook that was hidden from his view.

"I was so concerned with getting home to Lindsey that I couldn't wait for the new shift to start. I wanted to be there to make pancakes for her before school. It's kind of a tradition with us now. Then, when I came back for the new shift, the evidence was the last thing on my mind. Lindsey had had a rough day at school, and I was still worried about her. I should have remembered to get the evidence out. It's part of my job to be thorough, and I failed. I failed everyone."

"It's not your fault, Cath." She looked as if she intended on saying something, but his eyes begged her not to. He was surprised to find that it worked. She remained quiet, though it seemed that it took a great deal of restraint on her part to do so. "You shouldn't be punished for being a good mother. I'd be a little more concerned if you didn't care about Lindsey at all, and it was just some guy that made you forget the stuff in the lab." He paused, "Then, I think I would be a little offended."

She looked at him incredulously, pulling her hands back quickly. As soon as her flesh left his, the cold of the room immediately assailed his hands and he looked at hers regrettably. "Why aren't you mad at me?" She looked at him as if he were a child. As if that was a question she was asking Lindsey, but in a much more casual setting.

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I don't want to be your son. This isn't how it's supposed to go. You're not following the script.

"Because it wasn't your fault." He took a breath, concentrating on her face and not the hands that lay, forgotten, in her lap. "It could have happened to anyone."

Catherine stood and resumed her pacing, and Greg knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing this time. Sara was the 'it could happen to anyone' girl. Catherine was the 'what's done is done, it's time to move on' type. But he knew that there was no way to take it back, not that he would want to. It's true that this **could** and definitely **would** have happened to someone else eventually. It just happened that Catherine was the first.

"You should hate me for this, you know? You should at least be mad that I put you in the hospital because of my irresponsibility. You should be pissed that my sentence was too lenient. You should tell me not to bother coming back when my leave is done." She continued pacing erratically, and Greg sighed. "You could have died, and you aren't even mad at me."

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And once again, I can't be the man you need. The story of my life.

He raised his eyebrows, but the pain in his face was too much, and he lowered them just as quickly. "It's done. There's nothing that we can do to change that, but you can't beat yourself up over it for the rest of your life. You followed protocol, just like anyone else would have. It's just a freak accident that the hot plate was on and I happened to be in there at the time. It's not like you intentionally blew the place up."

Catherine nodded. Greg was pleased to see that she stopped pacing and sat down again. But she didn't move to take his hands back.

"I'm glad you came, Cath." She smiled. It was quick, but it warmed Greg's chilled body immediately. He hadn't seen her smile at least since Eddie died, and even then, it hadn't been because of him if she had. This time, it was all him.

She shrugged, as if the whole situation was of no major consequence, then took his hands in hers again.

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Maybe there's hope for us yet.

But there was nothing romantic about her touch. She squeezed them tighter for a moment, but then things were back to normal again. Her thumbs did not brush against the back of his hands. It was just a friend comforting another friend. A friend. A colleague. Anything other than a lover.

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This isn't what I want. This isn't how it's meant to be. You're supposed to tell me that you're sorry, and then throw your arms around me and vow to do whatever tit takes to make it up to me. Then, that's where I tell you that I don't want to take anything from you. That I'll only be satisfied when I have you, and you say yes and fall in love with me forever. Isn't that something? Couldn't we do that instead of this?

In his mind, he could see himself finally letting it all out and almost smiled. Almost.

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Maybe some things should stay buried.

Maybe it was all the thoughts, or something else entirely that made Greg yawn, but it didn't go unnoticed by Catherine either way. "I should go. You need your sleep."

She tried to pull her hands away, but he refused to let go. Holding on to them tightly, as if she may slip away forever if not, he looked at her with pleading eyes. "Stay with me?"

She said nothing, but firmly tugged one of her hands away to brush an unruly piece of hair that had fallen across his forehead. She pulled the blankets up around him some more until she seemed satisfied, then rested her free hand on top of his once more. There was no romance. Just something like love. Another Sara and Grissom. Eternally doomed to only the occasional touch or sidelong glance.

And he wanted so much more, and he could tell that she knew exactly what kind of thoughts danced behind his chocolate eyes. She said nothing about these either, but held tight to his hands. It may not have seemed like much to her, but the symbolism behind that gesture was not lost on him. He would play the son to her mother for now, if only for her sake.

He sighed and nestled back into the pillow. He didn't want to be the son, would have done just about anything to rid himself of the role. But not tonight.

Tonight, even being the son was better than being alone.

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I watch the heavens and I find a calling

Something I can do to change this moment

Stay close to me while the sky is falling

Don't wanna be left alone, don't wanna be alone

-Sarah McLachlan - 'World on Fire' -


	2. Maybe One Day

Summary: A continuation, of sorts, of the hospital scene between Catherine and Greg at the end of 'Play with Fire'.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them. If I did, Greg would spend less time in the lab and more in my bed with a substantially smaller amount of clothing involved. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and all those other insanely cool people. The quotes in the beginning belong to the writer of 'Play with Fire', whose name I sadly cannot recall.

Author's Note: It didn't take me long to realize that I wanted to write Cath's point of view on this as well. If you're not into the whole Catherine/Greg thing, this probably isn't for you since it's a little more "shippy" than the Greg piece.

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Catherine always felt that hospital rooms added years to your looks. It didn't matter how youthful a person was, a hospital room always made them look older and more sallow somehow. She stood in the hallway, unsure of whether to enter or not. Her mind willed her to do so, but her legs were bolted to the spot. He looked so pale and fragile, and it was all because of her.

Just a few days ago, he was as obnoxious and vivacious as ever. He had bounced around the room waving the lab results in the air like a little kid on a sugar high, all the while balancing that ridiculous "swami" turban on top of his spiky-haired head. Now he was trapped in a dungeon of blue tinted light, looking like a little boy tucked in for the night. He seemed so small all of a sudden, and Catherine wondered if he had always been like that.

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Maybe it's just the light. Maybe it's the guilt that makes him different tonight.

He was the same old Greg. Her laughing, joking, friendly neighborhood lab technician, but it wasn't the same. He didn't belong in this place, but he was here anyway. And it was her fault.

Finally, she got up the nerve to go into the room, but not to wake him. Instead, she paced back and forth at the foot of his bed, her eyes washing over him with every passing. He didn't even stir, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he was still alive at all. The light fell just right and she could see his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, no thanks to her. She was the reason why his chest could have stopped rising and falling in a constant cycle of breathing in and out. She was the reason why he could have died.

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No use feeling sorry for yourself, Willows. They know that it was all your fault, and no one else feels sorry for you either.

She bit her lip so hard that she was sure it would draw blood, but no coppery taste filled her mouth.

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Maybe I have no blood left in me. Maybe that's what happens to people who almost kill their friends.

But she couldn't be sure that they were even friends at all. Did it matter? She knew that he cared about her, and she felt something for him, but could she go so far as to call it friendship? Friendship implied contact outside of the work environment, but that wasn't the case with them. Maybe friendship was the wrong word for it.

Catherine stopped pacing and stood by the window, looking at him occasionally but really just focusing on a distant point on the Vegas skyline, wishing she was anywhere else but here.

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It's your own fault. Now you have to deal with the consequences of your negligence.

She heard a groan and turned, seeing that his eyes were finally open. She wondered if maybe the pacing had woke him, but it didn't really matter anyway. He was awake and it would all be off her chest soon.

And maybe, she wouldn't have to worry about whether it was friendship or not because it's easy to say you aren't friends with someone who hates you.

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Maybe he'll make it easy for me to walk away.

"What time is it?" Such a simple question, but the look in his eyes told her that it was something else entirely. And she realized that he knew why she was here, but couldn't guess at the depth of his knowledge. Then again, not many could when it came to Greg. Even she knew this, and they weren't even friends, right?

"Late." An answer just as simple as the question, but it seemed to carry more meaning for him. She would give him this, though she wasn't sure what fantasy played inside his head right then.

"How long have you been here?" His voice was so child-like and innocent. She wanted to hold him, but couldn't figure out a reason behind such madness. He wasn't her child, and deep inside she realized that she was grateful for the fact, but wasn't sure why.

"A while." She looked at him for a moment. There was no more putting it off. "I got a little time on my hands."

He seemed to nod, though it was hard to tell with his face pressed into the pillow like that. He was hiding his most visible wound from her, and for that she was grateful. This way, it almost seemed as if she was talking to the normal Greg. The one who bounced around labs and wore stupid hats while hitting on her and Sara all at once. "You found out what happened in the lab, didn't you?"

She didn't need a mirror to know that her eyes flickered with something, though she wasn't quite sure what.

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Compassion? Pity? Understanding? Lust?

She drove the last thought from her head as quickly as it had entered, but the fact that it was there at all frightened her. It looked like she might lose that control she so careful guarded with anyone else. But she wasn't ready for that, and this was far too important for her to skimp on the details. He deserved to know the truth, and he was clouding her thoughts right now with his mere presence.

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It's not supposed to be like this. You're too young. Still a child.

But deep inside, she knew he wasn't.

"Yeah." Finally, her legs found the strength to move and she grabbed a chair before they failed on her again. Pulling it close, she sat and took his hands. "Yeah, and, umm... I wanted you to hear it from me."

They sat there in silence for what could have been hours. The air-conditioning provided a sense of false comfort for her, but she was unable to hold in the sigh that escaped from her lips and ruined the illusion of peace. She wanted to slap him for looking so trusting, but that was uncalled for and would only make the situation worse.

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May as well just get it over with.

"It was late, or early, depending on how you look at it. Warrick and I were bringing a solution we had collected from a garage murder scene to the evidence room, but it was between shifts. The day crew hadn't gotten there yet, so I had to put it under the fume hood."

She paused to look at him and noticed that his eyes no longer opened and shut tiredly, but stayed wide with rapt attention. And suddenly the tale didn't seem to matter as much as just looking into those chocolate pools and drowning in them. Catherine shook her head. She couldn't think of things like that at a time like this. Those thoughts were for private times when she was alone in bed and wishing that someone would be there to hold her again.

Shaking her head, she moved on. "I followed protocol completely. All the unbooked evidence has to go under the fume hood. It's standard procedure." She felt distanced, like, in her mind, she was watching the explosion from somewhere, though she hadn't witnessed it in the first place. It wasn't hard to reconstruct it all. She had done it once before anyway. This was just a rerun.

"I was so concerned with getting home to Lindsey that I couldn't wait for the new shift to start. I wanted to be there to make pancakes for her before school. It's kind of a tradition with us now. Then, when I came back for the new shift, the evidence was the last thing on my mind. Lindsey had had a rough day at school, and I was still worried about her. I should have remembered to get the evidence out. It's part of my job to be thorough, and I failed. I failed everyone."

And even as she said it, she knew that it was no excuse. Other people had children, but they were still reliable.

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If everyone acted like me, there wouldn't be a nation left. The world would end if people acted as irresponsibly as I did all because of their children. At least one part is true; I did fail everyone. Especially you.

He didn't seem to feel the same way about her excuse because soon he was reassuring her that it wasn't really her fault, and for the second time that night, all she wanted to do was slap him until he saw the truth. Until he realized that it really was her fault and that she was sorry, and that she needed this to feel right again.

"You shouldn't be punished for being a good mother. I'd be a little more concerned if you didn't care about Lindsey at all, and it was just some guy that made you forget the stuff in the lab." He paused, "Then, I think I would be a little offended."

And it wasn't even that she was being a good mother, though she liked to think of herself as one sometimes. It was really just because... and had he said that he would be offended? She didn't know why the thought excited her so much, but it was there and he wanted her, and she knew it without a doubt. She could take him, and he would give her his blessing the entire time.

She pulled her hand back quickly, as if the mere touch of his skin burned her. And in her mind, it did.

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This can't happen. We can't do this.

And there was only two ways that this could go, but she couldn't tell him that she knew what he wanted and was ready for the same thing. That she would ravish him right there in that spot because it was what they both wanted but couldn't say. But she couldn't do it because then the truth would come to light and he would know how she really felt. And Catherine, who was usually so sure of everything, didn't know if she could leave his arms after, and it scared her.

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We can't do this.

If she couldn't have him, then she would push him away. It was how it had to be, though every moment she sat there, another piece of her heart broke away and turned to dust. It was better to treat him like a little boy. If she saw a child instead of the man that he really was, it would be easier to resist the thoughts that drove her next to the brink of insanity, but never let her fall. "Why aren't you mad at me?"

When he told her again that it wasn't her fault, she couldn't help but pace once more. He was making it so difficult for her to hold on to what she knew was right, instead of giving in to what she knew they really wanted. It wasn't even his comment about it happening to anyone that upset her. It was the thoughts that were taking over her brain in rapid succession.

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They were lying in bed; his skin slick with sweat as he hovered above her with that silly grin on his face. He was standing behind her in the lab with his hands on her hips as she looked at a DNA analysis report on the computer screen. He was bringing her breakfast in bed on their day off, having already sent Lindsey off to school.

She felt like screaming, but held back. But not much. "You should hate me for this, you know? You should at least be mad that I put you in the hospital because of my irresponsibility. You should be pissed that my sentence was too lenient. You should tell me not to bother coming back when my leave is done." She continued pacing erratically, and Greg sighed. "You could have died, and you aren't even mad at me."

He tried to comfort her, but the images were back.

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And besides, shouldn't it be the other way around?

She stopped pacing and sat back down, but she didn't take his hands again. She needed to get the thoughts out of her head, and touching him wasn't going to help the matter in the slightest.

"I'm glad you came, Cath." And she smiled, despite herself, at the innocence in his voice. He was still a child. He didn't deserve the heartbreak that would come along with her like an unwanted relative who never went away.

Still, she wanted to kiss him. Maybe she would one day, but all she could do now was shrug and take his hands once more.

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I may as well give him that.

She squeezed his hands tighter, but realized what she was doing and stopped. He was gazing at her now with glazed eyes, and she wondered what thoughts were running through his mind now. He looked like he might smile, and she was glad that she could still make him do that despite what she had done.

As he held onto her fingertips, she realized that this wasn't quite friendship, but something else entirely. She wanted him and would always want him, and lust crowded a heart until friendship was strangled out. Maybe it could find it's way back, but she hoped that it didn't because the notion that he might **only** be her friend somehow seemed worse than the thought of him being dead.

He yawned, and the idea of being away from him killed her, but she knew that it wasn't fair to either of them if she stayed. "I should go. You need your sleep."

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Excuses, excuses.

"Stay with me?" His eyes were so open and earnest, and there was nothing she could do to fight the look that lay in them. She knew what thoughts were running through his head now, and she hated to admit that hers were just the same. And she wanted to take him, but didn't know how and whether he would truly accept her with open arms or whether a bitterness would always lie in wait behind those twinkling eyes.

That moment, and that thought, passed, and she was brushing back his hair and tucking him in like a mother, while in her head she was on him and he was in her and the world wasn't quite as cold as it had been before.

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Maybe he'll make it easy for me to walk away.

But all she could do was put her hand back over his and think that maybe, one day, it would all be a little bit easier.

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And I don't understand

By the touch of your hand

I would be the one to fall

-Sarah McLachlan - 'Sweet Surrender'-

Ending Note: I may write something else involving the occurrences of this piece, but I'm not sure yet. Don't quote me on it. If it happens though, it'll be from Cath's point of view.


	3. More Than This

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own them. If I did, Greg would spend less time in the lab and more in my bed with a substantially smaller amount of clothing involved. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and all those other insanely cool people at CBS and such.

More Than This

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Greg was back at work, but he wasn't the same. He was quieter and more subdued, and she hated it. Hated that it was all her fault that he wasn't bouncing around in stupid hats, hitting on every girl in sight. But she couldn't really be upset about the last part because she hadn't forgotten the thoughts of that night.

No one came out and blamed her, but she could see it in their eyes. Every time they passed her in the hallway, it got a little quieter and the looks grew a little colder. She could deal with that, but not from him. Never from him.

"Greg, how are my results coming?" He jumped as if startled from an awful dream and spun around to look at her. He sighed a little and turned back toward his microscope once more. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else, leaning against a counter in wait.

It was a few minutes before he backed away again. This time, he was holding up a paper for her to look at. She wanted to read it, tried to will herself to do so, but all she could really do was watch the way that it shook in his hands. If she focused solely on the paper, it appeared that the entire world was shaking, but really, it was just him. She took the paper from him, but set it down on the countertop without another thought.

He jumped a little when she rested her hand on his shoulder, but it was just a little flinch and then he was relaxed again and looked at her with wide eyes. He seemed afraid, but not because of his proximity to the charred remains of what had once been his lab. No, she knew that it was really because of the intensity that her eyes held. She couldn't see them, but she knew it was there. And she knew that he realized what it meant.

"Cath... do you think that..."

"Catherine, I need you. We just got a break on the case." Grissom poked his head in the doorway, and she felt compelled to strangle him into unconsciousness. He seemed not to notice the tension radiating from Greg and herself, but instead just retracted his head without another word and headed back down the hallway.

She looked back at Greg and saw that his face fell noticeably. He was shaking again, and she just wanted it all to stop. "Have breakfast with me when shift is done."

He looked up at her, that wide-eyed, childlike look on his face again. He hadn't been expecting that. She didn't wait for his answer, because she already knew what it would be.

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Offer me the world

And how can I resist

Something more than this

-The Cure - 'More Than This' -

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He sat across from her, a glass of orange juice shaking in his hand as he brought it to his lips. She had stood outside the door when Grissom told him it would stop, but it had been a month and it was still there.

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How long do these things take? How long before he's whole again?

He must have noticed her staring at him because he smiled shyly and took another sip. She knew that this was what he wanted, and she was glad to give it to him. She would be glad to give him everything, if he wanted it at all.

"Thanks for this, Cath..."

She shrugged like it was no big deal, but knew that it wasn't the case. To him, this was probably like offering him the world and everything in it. Despite his contagious optimism and perkiness, Catherine didn't think that he had many friends. It wasn't the way that he talked or carried himself. Judging from those characteristics alone, one could classify him as the crime lab's social butterfly. No, it was in his eyes that the truth was hidden, and not many really took the time to pay attention. She could tell because she had and it had opened up a new world of emotions toward the younger man.

He was still smiling, and she realized that his optimism wasn't the only thing about him that was catching. "I haven't seen you _really _smile in a long time." He set his glass down, ignoring the little droplets that splashed over the edge from the nervous shake. "I'm glad I can still make you do that."

She studied the droplets with intense concentration, willing them to slip back up into the glass so his nightmare would be over. But she knew that the drops spotting the crisp, white tablecloth would not be going anywhere until the linen was tossed in her washing machine. Then it would look brand new.

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Why can't life be that easy?

She shook her head, pushing such dismal thoughts away. This was a time to be happy, for his sake if no one else's. "You'll always make me smile, Greg."

He seemed pleased by this fact, and she could almost see his chest swelling with pride. And she knew that he was thinking he could be the man she needed, if only for a good laugh now and then.

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But I want so much more. Can you be that man too?

"Catherine, can I ask you something?"

She sighed. The smile on his face was still there, but it had abandoned his eyes. Instead, they were focused on a point somewhere around her left hand, which sat on the tabletop, unused. Something was happening, and Catherine didn't like the chill that had fallen over their conversation and the room itself. He was getting serious, and she couldn't help but think that she liked him better before.

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He's trying so hard to be what he thinks I want. It's going to destroy him.

But she couldn't tell him to stop trying and to just be himself. And somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, Catherine thought that maybe that was exactly what she wanted. "Anything."

Greg nodded, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe an internal conversation with himself that had seeped out into his consciousness. His gaze focused on her for a moment, but flickered away quickly. "Do you think about me?"

The first sign of trouble was the little skip that her heart gave. Catherine convinced herself that it was just her imagination, but the sweaty palms were another sign that things were not going her way. She was losing her cool, and that was dangerous territory to encroach on. "Greg, I..."

His face fell as he gripped the glass tightly and more droplets splashed over onto the white. It was stained -it's innocence lost- and she couldn't help but think that it was tragically like him.

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The cloth can be bleached, but what about Greg's life? No bleach can undo what's been done to him.

And Catherine felt tears well up in her eyes for the first time in a long while. Greg caught her eye and she looked away, ashamed. He wasn't supposed to see her so weak like this. It wasn't how this was meant to be.

She lowered her eyes, staring at the paper napkin that was bunched up in her left hand. She thought about tearing at it, but decided that it would be best to look as calm as possible despite the tears. Catherine heard him get up and thought that he was leaving. She wanted to cry harder for all the pain that she had caused him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't cry easily, and this was killing her.

His arms were the first things that she felt. Then it was his head as it found a place beside hers, his chin resting on her right shoulder. His left hand went to play with the hem of her shirt while the other found a place wound amongst the hair at the base of her head. She let out a guilty sigh and clung to him, pressing her face into his neck and just taking him in. He smelled vaguely of aftershave and cleaning solvents, and it tickled her nose. It struck her that she found it odd that he even needed to shave, but reminded herself that he was, in fact, a man. The little kid he had been once was nowhere to be found just then, and she couldn't say that she was sorry.

He pulled back and looked at her face, studying it carefully. The hand playing with her shirt carefully slid up her back, then around so that he could trace the curve of her cheek with a fingertip. Catherine took in a shallow, shaky breath and stared back at him with the same intensity that was evident in his eyes.

Her mind screamed at her to "stop this now," but she continued staring as if she could fall into the depths of those eyes and finally meet the real Greg Sanders. She could finally see his soul.

Greg let his exploring fingers leave her face and settle on her shoulder, then slip down her arm until they finally met her own. She wrapped hers around his and smiled a little, embarrassed in front of his roving eyes.

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I was a stripper, yet I'm blushing at a thirty year-old.

But that wasn't true. He was twenty-nine and beautiful and so much more than those other men had been.

She looked down at her feet and realized that his skinny knees were resting on her hardwood floor and knew that that wasn't going to work at all. Catherine pulled him up with her, then wrapped her arms around his waist and settled her cheek against his chest. Something felt right, but there was so much that could be wrong, and she wondered if it was really worth it.

"You never answered my question."

She laughed and the airiness seemed to clear the room of some of the weight that had settled over it. "No, I suppose I didn't."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." His voice was soft and his tone playful -just like always. But with her ear pressed into his chest, she could hear the rumbling of it in his throat and smiled at the comfort that such a peculiar sound could bring her. She could wake up to it every morning right now and not mind at all.

__

That's ridiculous. It's Greg. I can't wake up with him ever.

She may have thought it, but she wasn't sure why.

"I think about you all the time." She looked up at him and smiled, allowing him to believe that by answering his own question, it had given her the courage she needed to do so herself. He was still naive. Still just a boy.

__

But he isn't. He's so much more than I see; than anyone sees.

"I think about you sometimes, but I also have to think about Lindsey too."

And he nodded in understanding, and she knew that he would never ask her to forget that she had a daughter at home. She looked toward the living room door, glad that she hadn't picked her up from her sister's house that morning. "What are we doing, Catherine?"

The question caught her by surprise, and she almost laughed out loud. Almost. But she couldn't because it was completely valid, despite what she wanted to believe. "I don't know."

Greg nodded again, as if that were a good answer, when even she knew that it was horribly lacking in any real and tangible information. He seemed satisfied though and went back to holding her, as if that were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them. She wanted to shove him away and see if she got some other kind of reaction aside from this raw trusting and honesty, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted this as much, maybe more, than he did.

__

It's not enough. It's never enough.

"We can't do this, Greg." He gazed at her for a moment, but brought his lips down to meet hers anyway. Catherine shivered at the sheer oddness of it all, but tried to fight the urge to give in to his lips despite herself. It was difficult, but for a moment she gained the upper hand and used it to push him back.

"You want this as much as I do." And there was bitterness in his voice, and she knew that he could see right through the defenses she had so carefully built up around her over the years. Of all the people to understand, it was this quirky, spiky-haired young man.

He stepped closer to her, reaching out a hand toward her arm.

The door opened and they both jumped back. Lindsey bounced in with her aunt in tow, grinning at some private joke that Catherine was never meant to understand and be privy to. "Hi Mommy." She seemed to study Greg with great care, then smiled at him brightly. "I've seen you before. You put on that funny hat and tried to make me smile when Mommy brought me to work with her."

Catherine was surprised that she remembered. It had been four years.

Greg knelt down and smiled at her. "That's right. If I remember correctly, it worked too." Lindsey nodded before fluttering past them into the kitchen. Greg looked up at her, then straightened so that he was hovering just around her, out of reach.

__

Why are you always so far away? But it's my fault, isn't it.

"I have to go. I'll see you at work tonight."

And he was gone, leaving Catherine to her thoughts for a little while longer. Leaving her to long for something that she hadn't felt in a long time. The thought scared her, but there were things to do, and she had to carry on like normal. Like he had no effect on her at all.

But still she wanted something. Wanted him. Something better. Something more. Something.

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On your lips lies a secret

A promise of what is

Something more than this

-The Cure - 'More Than This' -

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Author's Note: I was expecting this to be the last chapter, but it's going to continue on. Don't expect actual casework. This is strictly Catherine/Greg angst in its purest and simplest form. I hope you're enjoying it, and please consider reviewing so I know what to improve upon and such.


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